DRAMATIS PERSONÆ EOCHAIDH. @3High King of Ireland.@1 ETAIN. @3A Lost Princess, afterwards Eochaidh's Queen.@1 MIDIR. @3A Prince of the Hidden People.@1 DALUA. @3The Amadan-Dhu. Two Peasants,@1 Manus @3and@1 Maive, @3and Harpers, Warriors, etc.@1 ACT I @3A forest glade at the rising of the moon. In the background is the hazel- shadowed pool of a wide waste of water. As the moonshine falls upon an ancient oak to the right, the tall figure of@1 DALUA @3is seen leaning against the bole. He is clad in black, with a small black cap from which hangs a black hawk's feather.@1 DALUA [@3Slowly coming out of the shadow@1 By dim moon-glimmering coasts and dim grey wastes Of thistle-gathered shingle, and sea-murmuring woods Trod once but now untrod . . . under grey skies That had the grey wave sighing in their sails, And in their drooping sails the grey sea-ebb, And with the grey wind wailing evermore Blowing the dun leaf from the blackening trees, I have travelled from one darkness to another. VOICES IN THE WOOD Though you have travelled from one darkness to another Following the dun leaf from the blackening trees That the grey wind harries, and have trodden the woods Where the grey-hooded crows that once were men Gather in multitude from the long grey wastes Of thistled shingle by sea-murmurous coasts, Yet you have come no further than a rood, A little rood of ground in a circle woven. DALUA My lips have lost the salt of the driven foam, Howbeit I hear no more the long dull roar, Of the long grey beaches of the Hebrides. VOICES Behind the little windless leaves of the wood The sea-wastes of the wind-worn Hebrides, With thunderous crashes falling wave on wave, Are but the troubled sighs of a great silence. DALUA To the world's end I have come, to the world's end. VOICES You have come but a little way who think so far The long uncounted leagues to the world's end: And now you are mazed because you stand at the edge Where the last tangled slope leans over the abyss. DALUA You know not who I am, sombre and ancient voices. [@3Silence@1 And if I tread the long, continuous way Within a narrow round, not thinking it long, And fare a single hour thinking it many days, I am not first or last of the Immortal Clan, For whom the long ways of the world are brief And the short ways heavy with unimagined time. VOICES IN THE WOOD There is no first or last, or any end. DALUA I have come hither, led by dreams and visions, And know not why I come, and to what end, And wherefore, mid the noise of chariot wheels Where the swung world roars down the starry ways, The Voice I know and dread was one with me As the uplifted grain and wind are one. VOICES Above you is the light of a wandering star . . . O Son of the Wandering Star, we know you now! DALUA Like great black birds the demons haunt the woods . . . Hail, ye unknown who know me! . . . A VOICE Hail, Son of Shadow! VOICES Hail, Brother of the strong, immortal gods, And of the gods who have passed into a sleep In sandless hollows of forgotten hills, And of the homeless, sad, bewildered gods Who as grey wandering mists lickt up of the wind Pass slowly in the dull unfriendly light Of the cold, curious eyes of envious men. . . . OTHER VOICES . . . . . . Ai! Ai! Who yet have that which gives their mortal clay A light and a power and a wonder that none has Of all the Clans of the Shee, save only those who are not sprung of Orchil and of Kaìl, The mother and father of the earth-wrought folk Greater than men, but less than Orchil and Kaìl, As they in turn are less than sky-set Lu, Or Oengus who is keeper of the four great keys . . . OTHER VOICES Than sky-set Lu who leads the hosts of the stars . . . OTHER VOICES Than Dagda, Lord of Thunder and of Silence, And Ana, the ancient Mother of the gods. . . . OTHER VOICES Than Mánan of the innumerable waters. . . . OTHER VOICES Than moon-crown'd Brigid of the undying flame. . . . OTHER VOICES Than Midir of the Dew and the Evening Star. . . . OTHER VOICES Than Oengus, keeper of the East: of Birth, of Song; The keeper of the South: of Passion, and of War; The keeper of the West: of Sorrow, of Dreams; The keeper of the North: of Death, of Life. DALUA Yet one more ancient even than the god of the sun, Than flame-haired Oengus, lord of Love and Death, Holds the last dreadful key . . . Oblivion. VOICES Dim ages that are dust are but the loosened laughters Spilt in the youth of Oengus the Ever-Young! DALUA I am old, more old, more ancient than the gods, For I am son of Shadow, eldest god Who dreamed the passionate and terrible dreams We have called Fire and Light, Water and Wind, Air, Darkness, Death, Change, and Decay, and Birth And all the infinite bitter range that is. A VOICE Brother and kin to all the twilit gods, Living, forgot, long dead: sad Shadow of pale hopes, Forgotten dreams, and madness of men's minds: Outcast among the gods, and called the Fool, Yet dreaded even by those immortal eyes Because thy fateful touch can wreck the mind, Or lay a frost of silence on the heart: Dalua, hail! . . . DALUA I am but what I am. I am no thirsty evil lapping life. [@3Loud laughters from the wood@1 Laugh not, ye outcasts of the invisible world, For Lu and Oengus laugh not, nor the gods Safe set above the perishable stars. [@3Silence@1 They laugh not, nor any in the high celestial house. Their proud immortal eyes grow dim and clouded When as a morning shadow I am gathered Into their holy light, for well they know The dreadful finger of the Nameless One, That moves as a shadow falls. For I Dalua Am yet the blown leaf of the unknown powers. VOICES [@3Tumultuously@1 We too are the blown leaves of the unseen powers. DALUA Demons and Dreams and Shadows, and all ye Invisible folk who haunt the darkling ways, I am grown weary, who have stooped and lain Over the green edge o' the shaken world And seen beneath the whirling maze of stars Infinite gulfs of silence, and the obscure Abysmal wastes where Time hath never trod. VOICES We too are weary: we are Weariness. DALUA [@3Listening intently@1 Voices of shadowy things, be still! I hear The feet of one who wanders through the wood. VOICES We who are the children of the broken way, The wandered wind, the idle wave, blown leaves, The wild distempered hour and swirling dust, Hail thee, Dalua, Herdsman of fallen stars, Shepherd of Shadows! Lord of the Hidden Way! DALUA [@3Going back to the oak@1 Voices be still! The woods are suddenly troubled. I hear the footfall of predestined things. [@3Enter@1 ETAIN, @3in a coiled robe of pale green, with mistletoe intertwined in her long, dark, unloosened hair. She comes slowly forward, and stands silent, looking at the moonshine on the water.@1 ETAIN [@3Singing to a slow monotonous air@1 Fair is the moonlight And fair the wood, But not so fair As the place I come from. Why did I leave it, The beautiful country, Where Death is only A drifting Shadow? O face of Love, Of Dream and Longing, There is sorrow upon me That I am here. I will go back To the Country of the Young, And see again The lances of the Shee As they keep hosting With laughing cries In pale places Under the moon. [ETAIN @3turns, and walks slowly forward. She starts as she hears a peculiar cry from the wood@1 ETAIN None made that cry who has not known the Shee. DALUA [@3Coming forward and bowing low with fantastic grace@1 Hail, daughter of kings, and star among the dreams Which are the lives and souls of whom have won The Country of the Young! ETAIN I know you not: But though I have not seen your face before, I think you are of those who have not kept The bitter honey of mortality, But are among the deathless folk who dwell In hollow hills, or isles far off, or where Flatheanas lies, or cold Ifurin is. DALUA I have come far, led here by dreams and visions. ETAIN By dreams and visions led I too have come But know not whence or by what devious way, Nor to what end I am come through these dim woods To this grey lonely loch. DALUA [@3Touching her lightly with the shadow of his hand@1 Have you forgot The delicate smiling land beneath the arcs Which day and night and momently are wove Between its peaceful shores and the vast gulf Of dreadful silence and the unpathwayed dark? ETAIN If somewhat I remember, more is lost. Have I come here to meet with you, fair sir, Whose name I do not know, whose face is strange? DALUA Can you remember. . . . ETAIN I have forgotten all . . . I can remember nothing: no, not this The little song I sang ev'n now, or what sweet thought, What ache of longing lay behind the song. All is forgot. And this has come to me The wind-way of the leaf. But now my thoughts Ran leaping through the green ways of my mind Like fawns at play: but now I know no more That this: that I am Etain White o' the Wave, Etain come hither from the lovely land Where the immortal Shee fill up their lives As flowers with honey brewed of summer airs, Flame of the sun, dawn-rains, and evening dews. DALUA [@3Sombrely@1 How knew you not that once, where the unsetting moon The grassy elf mounds fills with drowsy gold, I kissed your shadowy lips beneath the thorn Heavy with old foam of changeless blossom? ETAIN [@3Leaning forward and looking into his face@1 You loved me once? I have no memory Of this: if once you loved me, have you lost The subtle breath of love, the sudden fire? For you are cold as are your shadowy eyes. DALUA [@3Unstirring@1 When, at the last, amid the o'erwearied Shee— Weary of long delight and deathless joys— One you shall love may fade before your eyes, Before your eyes may fade, and be as mist Caught in the sunny hollow of Lu's hand, Lord of the Day. . . . ETAIN [@3Eagerly, with her left hand pressed against her heart@1 What then? DALUA It may be then, white dove, Your eyes may dwell on one on whom falls not The first chill breath blown from the Unknown Land, Of which the tender poets of the Shee Sing in the dewy eves when the wild deer Are milked, and 'neath the evening-star moths rise Grey-gold against a wave-uplifted moon. ETAIN Well? DALUA Then I, Dalua, in that fateful hour, Shall know the star-song of supreme desire, And placing hand upon the perfect fruit Shall taste and die. . . . [@3A pause@1 . . . or, if I do not die, Shall know the sweet fruit mine, then see it slip Down through dim branches into the abyss Where all sweet fruit that is, the souls of men, The joyous Shee, old gods, all beautiful words, Song, music, dreams, desires, shall in the end Sway like blown moths against the rosewhite flame That is the fiery plume upon the brows Of Him called Silence. ETAIN I do not understand: Your love shall fall about me like sweet rain In drouth of death: so much I hear and know: But how can death o'ertake the immortal folk With whom I dwell? And if you love me thus, Why is there neither word nor smile nor glance Of love, nor any little sign that love Shakes like a windy reed within your heart? DALUA [@3Sombrely@1 I am Dalua. ETAIN I have heard lips whisper Of one Dalua, but with sucked-in breath, As though the lips were fearful of the word. No more than this I know, no more recall. DALUA I cannot give you word of love, or kiss, Sweet love, for in my fatal breath there lies The subtle air of madness: from my hand Death shoots an arrowy tongue, if I but touch The unsuspecting clay with bitter heed, With hate darkling as the swift winter hail, Or sudden malice such as lifts and falls A dreadful shadow of ill within my mind. Nor could I if I would. We are sheep led By an unknown Shepherd, we who are the Shee, For all we dream we are as gods, and far Upgathered from the little woes of men. ETAIN Then why this meeting, here in this old wood, By moonlight, by this melancholy water? DALUA I knew not: now I know. A king of men Has wooed the Immortal Hour. He seeks to know The joy that is more great than joy The beauty of the old green earth can give. He has known dreams, and because bitter dreams Have sweeter been than honey, he has sought The open road that lies mid shadowy things. He hath sought and found and called upon the Shee To lead his love to one more beautiful Than any mortal maid, so fair that he Shall know a joy beyond all mortal joy, And stand silent and rapt beside the gate, The rainbow gate of her whom none may find, The Beauty of all Beauty. ETAIN Can this be? DALUA Nay, but he doth not know the end. There is But one way to that Gate: it is not Love A flame with all desire, but Love at peace. ETAIN Who is this poet, this king? DALUA Led here by dreams, By dreams and visions led as you and I, His feet are nearing us. When you are won By love and adoration, Star of dreams, And take sweet mortal clay, and have forgot The love-sweet whisper of the King of The Shee, And, even as now, hear Midir's name unmov'd; When you are won thus, Etain, and none know, Not any of your kindred, whence unknown As all unknowing you have come, for you The wayward thistledown of fate shall blow On the same idle wind—the doom of him Who blindfold seeks you. ETAIN But he may not love? DALUA Yes, he shall love. Upon him I shall lay My touch, the touch of him men dread and call The Amadan-Dhu, the Dark One, Fairy Fool. He shall have madness even as he wills, And think it wisdom. I shall be his thought— A dream within a dream, the flame wherein The white moths of his thought shall rise and die. [@3A blast of a horn is heard@1 DALUA [@3Abruptly@1 FAREWELL. [@3Touches her lightly with the shadow of his hand, and whispers in her ear@1 Now go. The huntsman's lodge is near. I have told all that need be told, and given Bewilderment and dreams, but dreams that are The fruit of that sweet clay of which I spoke. [ETAIN @3slowly goes, putting her hand to her head bewilderedly. Before she passes into and out of sight in the wood, she sings plaintively@1 @3I would go back To the Country of the Young, And see again The lances of the Shee, As they keep their hosting With laughing cries In pale places Under the moon.@1 SCENE II.—@3The same.@1 [DALUA @3stands, waiting the coming of@1 EOCHAIDH @3the king. The king is clad in a leathern hunting dress, with a cleft helmet surmounted by a dragon in pale findruiney@1 EOCHAIDH [@3Stopping abruptly@1 Sir, I am glad. I had not thought to see One here. DALUA [@3Taking off his cap, and sweeping it low@1 The king is welcome here. EOCHAIDH The king? How know you that the king is here? Far off The war-horns bray about my threatened Dûn. None knows that I am here. DALUA 'And why, O king? EOCHAIDH For I am weary of wars and idle strife, Who have no joy in all these little things Men break their lives upon. But in my dreams, In dreams I have seen that which climbs the stars And sings upon me through my lonely hours And will not let me be. DALUA What song is that? EOCHAIDH The song . . . but who is he who knows the king Here in this dim, remote, forgotten wood, Where led by dreams and visions I have come? DALUA Those led by dreams shall be misled, O king! EOCHAIDH You are no druid: no knight in arms: none Whom I have seen. DALUA I have known camps of men, The minds and souls of men, and I have heard Eochaidh the king sighing out his soul in sighs. EOCHAIDH Tell me your name. DALUA I am called Dalua. EOCHAIDH [@3Ponderingly@1 I have not heard that name, and yet in dreams I have known one who waved a shadowy plume And smiling said, "I am Dalua." Speak: Are you this same Dalua? DALUA I have come To this lone wood and to this lonely mere To drink from out the Fountain of all dreams, The Shadowy Fount of Beauty. EOCHAIDH [@3Eagerly@1 At last! The Fount of Beauty, Fountain of all dreams! Now am I come upon my long desire! The days have trampled me like armed men Thrusting their spears as ever on they go, And I am weary of all things save the stars, The wind, shadows and moonrise, and strange dreams. If you can show me this immortal Fount Whatso you will is yours. DALUA [@3Touching him lightly@1 You are the king, And know, now, whence you came, and to what end? EOCHAIDH [@3Confusedly@1 The king? The king? What king? DALUA You are the king? EOCHAIDH A king of shadows, I! I am no king. DALUA And whither now, and whence? EOCHAIDH I am not come From any place I know of, and I go Where dreams and visions lead me. [@3Suddenly a fountain rises in the mere, the spray rising high in the moonshine@1 DALUA Look, O king! EOCHAIDH [@3Staring eagerly, with hand above his eyes@1 I cannot see what you would have me see. DALUA [@3Plucking a branch from a mountainash, and waving it before the king's face@1 Look! EOCHAIDH I see a Fountain and within its shadow A great fish swims, and on the moveless wave The scarlet berries float: dim mid the depths The face of One I see, most calm and great, August, with mournful eyes. DALUA Ask what you will. EOCHAIDH The word of wisdom, O thou hidden God: Show me my star of dreams, show me the way! A VOICE [@3Solemnly@1 [@3Return, O Eochaidh Airemh, wandering king@1 EOCHAIDH That shall not be. No backward way is mine. If I indeed be king, then kingly I Shall cleave my way through shadows, as through men. A VOICE @3Return!@1 EOCHAIDH Nay, by the Sun and Moon, I swear I will not turn my feet. A VOICE @3Return! Return!@1 EOCHAIDH [@3Hesitating, turns to look at@1 DALUA, @3who has swiftly and silently with-drawn into the wood@1 [@3Silence@1 There is no backward way for such as I! Howbeit—for I am shaken with old dreams, And as an idle wave tossed to and fro— I will go hence: I will go back to where The quiet moonlight spills from the black brow Of the great hill that towers above the lands Wherein men hail me king. [DALUA'S @3laughter comes from the wood@1 DALUA Follow, O follow, king of dreams and shadows! EOCHAIDH I follow. . . . [@3Exit@1 SCENE III.—@3The rude interior of the cabin of the huntsman,@1 MÁNUS. @3He is sitting, clad in deerskin, with strapped sandals, before a fire of pine- logs. Long, unkempt, black hair falls about his face. His wife,@1 MAIVE, @3a worn woman with a scared look, stands at the back, plucking feathers from a dead cockerel. At the other side of the hearth,@1 ETAIN @3sits.@1 MÁNUS I've seen that man before who came to-night. [@3He has addressed no one, and no one answers@1 I say I have seen that man before. MAIVE Hush Mánus Beware of what you say. How can we tell Who comes, who goes? And, too, good man, you've had Three golden pieces. MÁNUS Aye, they are put by, That comforts me: for gold is ever gold. MAIVE One was for her who stays with us to-night And shares our scanty fare. [@3Making a curtsey@1 Right welcome, too: The other was for any who might come, Asking for bite or sup, for fireside warmth. The third. . . . MÁNUS Yes, woman, yes, I know: for silence. Hush! [@3A moan of wind is heard@1 There comes the rain. ETAIN [@3Rising and going to the left doorway, pulls back the hide. Shuddering, she thrusts it crosswise again, and returns@1 It was so beautiful, So still, with not a breath of wind, and now The hill-wind moans, the night is filled with tears Of bitter rain. Good people, have you seen Such quiet eves fall into stormy nights Before? MÁNUS Who knows the wild way of the wind: The wild way of the rain? They come, and go: We stay. We wait. We listen. Not for us To ask, to wonder. MAIVE They're more great than we. They are so old, the wind and rain, so old, They know all things, Grey Feathers and Blind Eyes! ETAIN Who? . . . Who? . . . MÁNUS . . . the woman speaks of Wind and Rain: Blind Eyes, the dreadful one whom none has seen, Whose voice we hear: Grey Feathers, his pale love, Who flies before or follows, grey in rains, Fierce blue in hail, death-white in whirling snows. ETAIN Does any ever come to you by night? . . . lost woodlander, stray wayfarer from the hills, Merchant or warrior from the far-off plains? MÁNUS None. MAIVE We are so far away: so far, I think Sometimes, we must be close upon the edge Of the green earth, there where the old tales say The bramble-bushes and the heather make A hollow tangle over the abyss. ETAIN But sometimes . . . sometimes. . . . Tell me: have you heard, By dusk or moonset have you never heard Sweet voices, delicate music? . . . never seen The passage of the lordly beautiful ones Men call the Shee? MÁNUS [@3Rising abruptly@1 We do not speak of them. MAIVE Hark! [@3A stronger blast strikes the house.@1 MÁNUS @3throws more logs on the fire@1 MAIVE Hark! a second time I've heard a cry! [@3All listen. Suddenly a loud knock is heard.@1 MAIVE @3covers her head, and cowers beside the fire, behind@1 ETAIN, @3who rises.@1 MÁNUS @3seizes a spear, and stands waiting. The heavy knock is repeated@1 A VOICE Open, good folk! MÁNUS There is no door to ope: Thrust back the skins from off the post. [@3The ox-fell is thrust aside, and@1 EOCHAIDH @3enters. He stops at the threshold, staring at@1 ETAIN EOCHAIDH Good folk, I give you greeting. [@3A pause@1 Lady, I bow my knee. [ETAIN @3bows slowly in return.@1 EOCHAIDH @3comes a few steps forward, stops, and looks fixedly at@1 ETAIN. @3He says slowly@1— You have great beauty. [@3A pause@1 I have never seen Beauty so great, so wonderful. In dreams, In dreams alone such beauty have I seen, A @2star@1 above my dusk. ETAIN Sir, I pray you Draw near the fire. This bitter wind and rain Must sure have chilled you. [@3She points to her vacant three-legged stool. As@1 EOCHAIDH @3slowly passes her,@1 MÁNUS @3slides his hand over his shoulder and back@1 MÁNUS [@3With a strange look at@1 MAIVE He is not wet. The driving rains have left No single drop! MAIVE [@3Piteously@1 Good sir! brave lord! good sir! Have pity on us: sir, have pity! We are poor, and all alone, and have no wile To save ourselves from great ones, or from those Who dwell in secret places on the hills Or wander where they will in shadow clothed. MÁNUS @3Hush,@1 woman! Name no names: and speak no word Of them who come unbidden and unknown. Good, sir, you are most welcome. I am Mánus, And this poor woman is Maive, my childless wife, And this is a great lady of the land Who shelters here to-night. Her name is Etain. EOCHAIDH Tell me, good Mánus: who else is here, or whom You may expect? MÁNUS No one, fair lord. The wild Gray stormy seas are doors that shut the world From us poor island-folk. . . . MAIVE We are alone, We're all alone, fair sir: there is none here But whom you see. Gray Feathers and Blind Eyes Are all we know without. EOCHAIDH Who are these others? MÁNUS The woman speaks, sir, of the Wind and Rain. These unknown gods are as all gods that are, And do not love to have their sacred names Used lightly: so we speak of him who lifts A ceaseless wing across all lands and seas, Moaning or glad, and flieth all unseeing From darkness into darkness, as Blind Eyes: And her, his lovely bride, for he is deaf and so Veers this way and that for ever, seeing not His love who breaks in tears beneath his wings Or falls in snows before his frosty breath— Her we name thus, Grey Feathers. MAIVE As for us, We are poor lonely folk, and mean no wrong. Sir, sir, if you are of the nameless ones, The noble nameless ones, do us no ill! EOCHAIDH Good folk, I mean no ill. Nor am I made Of other clay than yours. I am a man. Let me have shelter here to-night: to-morrow I will go hence. MÁNUS You are most welcome, sir. EOCHAIDH And you, fair Etain, is it with your will That I be sheltered from the wind and rain? ETAIN How could I grudge you that ungrudged to me? [MÁNUS @3and@1 MAIVE @3withdraw into the background. . The light wanes, as the logs give less flame.@1 EOCHAIDH @3speaks in a low, strained voice@1 Etain, fair beautiful love, at last I know Why dreams have led me hither. All these years These eyes like stars have led me: all these years This love that dwells like moonlight in your face Has been the wind that moved my idle wave. Forgive presumptuous words. I mean no ill. I am a king, and kingly. Ard-Righ, I am, Ard-Righ of Eiré. ETAIN And your name, fair lord? EOCHAIDH Eochaidh Airemh. ETAIN And I am Etain called, Daughter of lordly ones, of princely line. But more I cannot say, for on my mind A strange forgetful cloud bewilders me, And I have memory only of those things Of which I cannot speak, being under bond To keep the silence of my lordly folk. How I came here, or to what end, or why I am left here, I know not. EOCHAIDH Truly, I [@3Taking her hand in his@1 Now know full well. Etain, dear love, my dreams Come true. I have seen this dim pale face in dreams For days and months and years; till at the last Too great a spell of beauty held my hours. My kingdom was no more to me than sand, Or a green palace built of August leaves Already yellowing, waiting for the wind To scatter them to north and south and east. I have forgotten all that men hold dear, And given my kinghood to the wheeling crows, The trampling desert hinds, the snarling fox. I have no thought, no dream, no hope, but this— [@3Kissing her upon the brow@1 To call you love, to take you hence, my Queen— Queen of my Heart, my Queen, my Dream, my Queen! ETAIN [@3Looking into his face, with thrownback head@1 I too, I too, am lifted with the breath Of a tumultous wind. My lord and king, I too am lit with fire, which fills my heart, And lifts it like a flame to burn with thine, To pass and be at one and flame in thine, My, lord, my king! My lord, my lord, my king! EOCHAIDH The years, the bitter years of all the world Are now no more. We have gained that which stands Above the trampling feet of hurrying years. [@3A brief burst of mocking laughter is heard@1 EOCHAIDH [@3Turning angrily, and looking into the shadowy background where are@1 MÁNUS @3and@1 MAIVE Who laughed? What means that laughter? MÁNUS [@3Sullenly@1 No one laughed. EOCHAIDH Who laughed? Who laughed? MAIVE Grey Feathers and Blind Eyes. ETAIN [@3Wearily@1 None laughed. It was the hooting of an owl. Dear lord, sit here. I am weary. [MÁNUS @3and@1 MAIVE @3withdraw, and lie down.@1 EOCHAIDH @3and@1 ETAIN @3sit before the smouldering fire. The room darkens. Suddenly@1 EOCHAIDH @3leans forward, and whispers@1 EOCHAIDH Etain! Etain, dear love! ETAIN [@3Not looking at him, and slowly swaying as she sings@1 How beautiful they are, The lordly ones Who dwell in the hills, In the hollow hills. They have faces like flowers And their breath is wind That blows over grass Filled with dewy clover. Their limbs are more white Than shafts of moonshine: They are more fleet Than the March wind. They laugh and are glad And are terrible: When their lances shake Every green reed quivers. How beautiful they are How beautiful The lordly ones In the hollow hills. [@3Darkness, save for the red flame in the heart of the fire.@1 ACT II SCENE I.—@3A year later. In the hall of the Royal Dûn at Tara. The walls covered with skins, stag's heads and boar's heads, weapons: at intervals great torches. At lower end, a company of warriors, for the most part in bratta of red and green, or red and green and blue, like tartan but in long, broad lines or curves, and not in squares, deerskin gaiters and sandals. Also harpers and others, and white-clad druids and bards. On a dais sits@1 EOCHAIDH @3the High King. Beside him sits@1 ETAIN, @3his queen. Behind her is a group of whiterobed girls.@1 HARPERS @3(strike a loud clanging music from their harps).@1 CHORUS OF BARDS Glory of years, O king, glory of years! Hail, Eochaidh the High King of Eiré, hail! Etain the Beautiful, hail! OTHER BARDS, HARPERS, AND MINSTRELS @3Hail!@1 DRUIDS @3Hail!@1 WARRIORS @3Hail!@1 EOCHAIDH Drink from the great shells and horns! . . . for I am glad That on this night which rounds my year of joy, In amity and all glad fellowship We feast together. [@3Turning to@1 ETAIN Etain, speak, my Queen. ETAIN [@3Rising@1 Warriors and druids, bards, harpers, friends Of high and low degree, I who am queen Do also thank you. But I am weary now, And weary too with strange perplexing dreams Thrice dreamed: and so I bid you all farewell. [@3Bows low. Turning to the king adds@1 To you, dear love, my lord and king, I too Will bid farewell to-night. EOCHAIDH [@3Lovingly@1 Say not farewell: Say not farewell, dear love, for we shall meet When the last starry dews are gathered up And loud in the green woods the throstles call. ETAIN Dear, I am tired. . . . Farewell! EOCHAIDH No, no, my fawn— My fawn of love: this night, this night I pray Leave me not here alone: for under all This outer tide of joy I am sore wrought By dreams and premonitions. For three nights I have heard sudden laughters in the dark, Where nothing was; and in the first false dawn Have seen phantasmal shapes, and on the grass A host of shadows marching, bent one way As when green leagues of reed become one reed Blown slantwise by the wind. ETAIN I, too, have heard Strange delicate music, subtle murmurings, A little lovely noise of myriad leaves, As though the greenness on the wind o' the south Came traveling to bare woods on one still night: [@3A pause@1 I, too, have heard sweet laughter at the dawn, Amid the twilight fern: but when I leaned To see the unknown friends, no more than this I saw—grey delicate shadows on the grass, Grey shadows on the fern, the flowers, the leaves, Swift flitting, like foam-shadows o'er a wave, Before the grey wave of the coming day. [@3A pause: then suddenly@1 But I am weary. Eochaidh, love and king, Sweet sleep and sweeter dreams! [ETAIN @3leans and kisses the king. He stoops, and takes her right hand, and lifts it to his lips. Warriors raise their swords and spears, as@1 ETAIN @3leaves, followed by her women.@1 WARRIORS AND OTHERS The Queen! The Queen! HARPERS @3(strike a loud clanging music from their harps).@1 CHORUS OF BARDS Glory of years, O king, glory of years! Hail, Eochaidh Ard-Righ of Eiré, hail! hail! Etain the Beautiful, hail! OTHER BARDS, HARPERS, AND MINSTRELS @3Hail!@1 DRUIDS @3Hail!@1 WARRIORS @3Hail!@1 EOCHAIDH [@3Raising a white hazel-wand, till absolute silence falls@1 Now go in peace. To one and all, good-night. [@3The warriors, bards, minstrels troop out, leaving only the harpers and a few druids, who do not follow, but stand uncertain as a stranger passes through their midst and confronts the king. He is young, princely, fair to see; clad al l in green, with a gold belt, a gold torque round his neck, gold armlets on his bare arms, and two gold torques round his bare ankles. On his long curling dark hair, falling over his shoulder, is a small green cap from which trails a peacockfeather. To his left side is slung a small clarsach, or harp.@1 MIDIR Hail, Eochaidh, King of Eiré. EOCHAIDH [@3Standing motionless and looking fixedly at the stranger@1 Hail, fair sir! MIDIR [@3With light grace@1 Sorrow upon me that I am so late For this great feasting; but I come from far, And winds and rains delayed me. Yet full glad I am to stand before the king to-night And claim a boon! EOCHAIDH No stranger claims in vain Here in my Dûn, a boon if that boon be Such I may grant without a loss of fame, Honour, or common weal. But first, fair sir, I ask the name and rank of him who craves, To all unknown? MIDIR I am a king's first son: My kingdom lies beyond your lordly realms, O king, and yet upon our mist-white shores The Three Great Waves of Eiré rise in foam. But I am under @3geasa,@1 sacred bonds, To tell to no one, even to the king, My name and lineage. King, I wish you well: Lordship and peace and all your heart's desire. EOCHAIDH Fair lord, my thanks I give. Lordship I have, And peace a little while, though one brief year Has seen its birth and life: my heart's desire— Ah, unknown lord, give me my heart's desire— And I will give you lordship of these lands, Kingship of Eiré, riches, greatness, power, All, all, for but the little infinite thing That is my heart's desire! MIDIR And that, O king? EOCHAIDH It is to know there is no twilight hour Upon my day of joy: no starless night Wherein my swimming love may reach in vain For any shore, wherein great love shall drown And be a lifeless weed, which the pale shapes Of ghastly things shall look at and pass by With idle fin. MIDIR Have not the poets sung Great love survives the night, and climbs the stars, And lives th' immortal hour along the brows Of that infinitude called Youth, whom men Name Oengus, Sunrise? EOCHAIDH Sir, I too have been A poet. MIDIR Within the Country of the Young, Whence I have come, our life is full of joy, For there the poet's dreams alone are true. EOCHAIDH Dreams . . . dreams. . . . [@3A pause: then abruptly@1 But tell me now, fair lord, the boon You crave. MIDIR I have heard rumour say that there is none Can win the crown at chess from this crowned king Called Eochaidh. EOCHAIDH Well? MIDIR And I would win that crown: For none in all the lands that I have been Has led me to the maze wherein the pawns Are lost or go away. EOCHAIDH Sir, it is late, But if I play with you, and I should win, What is the guerdon? MIDIR That—your heart's desire. [@3A pause@1 MIDIR And what, O king, my guerdon if I win? EOCHAIDH What you shall ask. MIDIR Then be it so, O, king. EOCHAIDH Yet why not on the morrow, my fair lord? To-night the hour is late; the queen is gone: The chessboard lies upon a fawnskin couch Beside the queen. She is weary, asleep. To-morrow then . . . MIDIR [@3Drawing from his green vest a small chess-board of ivory, and then a handful of gold pawns@1 Not so, Ard-Righ, for see I have a chess-board here, fit for a king— For it is made of yellow ivory That in dim days of old was white as cream When Dana, mother of the ancient gods, Withdrew it from her thigh, with golden shapes Of unborn gods and kings to be her pawns. EOCHAIDH [@3Leaning forward curiously@1 Lay it upon the dais. In all my years I have seen none so fair, so wonderful. [@3Both lie upon the dais, and move the pawns upon the ivory board@1 HARPERS (@3play a delicate music@1). A YOUNG MINSTREL [@3Sings slowly I have seen all things pass and all men go Under the shadow of the drifting leaf: Green leaf, red leaf, brown leaf, Grey leaf blown to and fro: Blown to and fro. I have seen happy dreams rise up and pass Silent and swift as shadows on the grass: Grey shadows of old dreams, Grey beauty of old dreams, Grey shadows in the grass.@1 SCENE II.—@3The same.@1 EOCHAIDH [@3Rising abruptly, followed by@1 MIDIR @3more slowly@1 So, you have won! For the first time the king Has known one subtler than himself. Fair sir, Your boon? MIDIR O king, it is a little thing. All that I ask is this, that I may touch With my own lips the white hand of the queen: And that sweet Etain whom you love so well Should listen to the distant shell-sweet song, A little echoing song that I have made Down by the foam on sea-drown'd shores to please Her lovelier beauty. EOCHAIDH Sir, I would that boon Were other than it is: for the queen sleeps Grown sad with weariness and many dreams: But as you have my kingly word, so be it. [@3Calls to the young minstrel@1 Go boy, to where the women sleep, and call Etain, the Queen. [@3The minstrel goes, to left@1 HARPERS (@3play a low delicate music@1). [@3Enter@1 ETAIN, @3in a robe of pale green, with mistletoe intertwined in her long loose hair@1 EOCHAIDH Welcome, fair lovely queen. But, Etain, whom I love as the dark wave Loves the white star within its travelling breast, Why do you come thus clad in green, with hair Entangled with the mystic mistletoe, as when I saw you first, in that dim, lonely wood Down by forgotten shores, where the last clouds Slip through grey branches into the grey wave? ETAIN I could not sleep. My dreams came close to me And whispered in my ears. And someone played A vague perplexing air without my room. I was as dim and silent as the grass, Till a faint wind moved over me, and dews Gathered, and in the myriad little bells I saw a myriad stars. EOCHAIDH This nameless lord Has won a boon from me. It is to touch The whiteness of this hand with his hot lips, For he is fevered with a secret trouble, From rumour of that beauty which too well I know a burning flame. And he would sing A song of echoes caught from out the foam Of sea-drown'd shores, a song that he has made, Dreaming a foolish idle dream, an idle dream. ETAIN [@3Looking long and lingeringly at@1 MIDIR, @3slowly gives him her hand. When he has raised it to his lips, bowing, and let it go, she starts, puts it to her brow bewilderingly, and again looks fixedly at@1 MIDIR Fair nameless lord, I pray you sing that song. MIDIR [@3Slowly chanting and looking steadfastly at@1 ETAIN How beautiful they are, The lordly ones Who dwell in the hills, In the hollow hills. They have faces like flowers, And their breath is wind That stirs amid grasses Filled with white clover. Their limbs are more white Than shafts of moonshine: They are more fleet Than the March wind. They laugh and are glad And are terrible; When their lances shake Every green reed quivers. How beautiful they are, How beautiful, The lordly ones In the hollow hills. [@3Silence.@1 ETAIN @3again puts her hand to her brow bewilderedly@1 ETAIN [@3Dreamily@1 I have heard. . . . I have dreamed. . . . I, too, have heard, Have sung . . . that song: O lordly ones that dwell In secret places in the hollow hills, Who have put moonlit dreams into my mind And filled my noons with visions, from afar I hear sweet dewfall voices, and the clink, The delicate silvery spring and clink Of faery lances underneath the moon. MIDIR I am a song In the Land of the Young, A sweet song: I am Love. I am a bird With white wings And a breast of flame, Singing, singing. The wind sways me On the quicken-bough: Hark! Hark! I hear laughter. Among the nuts On the hazel-tree I sing to the Salmon In the faery pool. What is the dream The Salmon dreams, In the Pool of Connla Under the hazels? It is: There is no death Midir, with thee, In the honeysweet land Of Heart's Desire. It is a name wonderful, Midir, Love: It was born on the lips Of Oengus Og. Go, look for it: Lost name, beautiful: Strayed from the honeysweet Land of Youth. I am Midir, Love: But where is my secret Name in the land of Heart's desire? I am a bird With white wings And a breast of flame Singing, singing: The Salmon of knowledge Hears, whispers: Look for it, Midir, In the heart of Etain: Etain, Etain, My Heart's Desire: Love, love, love, Sorrow, Sorrow! [ETAIN @3moves a little nearer, then stops. She puts both hands before her eyes, then withdraws them@1 ETAIN I am a small green leaf in a great wood And you, the wind o' the South! [@3Silence.@1 EOCHAIDH, @3as though spellbound, cannot advance, but stretches his arms towards@1 ETAIN EOCHAIDH Etain, speak! What is this song the harper sings, what tongue It this he speaks? for in no Gaelic lands Is speech like this upon the lips of men. No word of all these honey-dripping words Is known to me. Beware, beware the words Brewed in the moonshine under ancient oaks White with pale banners of the mistletoe Twined round them in their slow and stately death. It is the Feast of Sáveen. ETAIN All is dark That has been light. EOCHAIDH Come back, come back, O love that slips away! ETAIN I cannot hear your voice so far away: So far away in that dim lonely dark Whence I have come. The light is gone. Farewell! EOCHAIDH Come back, come back! It is a dream that calls, A wild and empty dream! There is no light Within that black and terrible abyss Whereon you stand. Etain, come back, come back, I give you life and love. ETAIN I cannot hear Your strange forgotten words, already dumb And empty sounds of dim defeated shows. I go from dark to light. MIDIR [@3Slowly whispering@1 From dark to light. EOCHAIDH O, do not leave me, Star of my Desire! My love, my hope, my dream: for now I know That you are part of me, and I the clay, The idle mortal clay that longed to gain, To keep, to hold, the starry Danann fire, The little spark that lives and does not die. ETAIN Old, dim, wind-wandered lichens on a stone Grown grey with ancient age: as these thy words, Forgotten symbols. So, Farewell: farewell! MIDIR Hasten, lost love, found love! Come, Etain, come! ETAIN What are those sounds I hear? The wild deer call From the hill-hollows: and in the hollows sing, Mid waving birchen boughs, brown wandering streams: And through the rainbow'd spray flit azure birds Whose song is faint, is faint and far with love: O, home-sweet, hearth-sweet, cradle-sweet it is, The song I hear! MIDIR [@3Slowly moving backward@1 Come, Etain, come! Afar The hillside maids are milking the wild deer; The elf-horns blow: green harpers on the shores Play a wild music out across the foam: Rose-flusht on one long wave's pale golden front, The moon of faery hangs, low on that wave. Come! When the vast full yellow flower is swung High o'er the ancient woods wherein old gods, Ancient as they, dream their eternal dreams That in the faery dawns as shadows rise And float into the lives and minds of men And are the tragic pulses of the world, Then shall we two stoop by the Secret Pool And drink, and salve our sudden eyes with dew Gathered from foxglove and the moonlit fern, And see. . . . [@3Slowly chanting and looking steadfastly at@1 ETAIN How beautiful they are, The lordly ones Who dwell in the hills, In the hollow hills. They have faces like flowers, And their breath is wind That stirs amid grasses Filled with white clover. Their limbs are more white Than shafts of moonshine: They are more fleet Than the March wind. They laugh and are glad And are terrible: When their lances shake Every green reed quivers. How beautiful they are, How beautiful, The lordly ones In the hollow hills. ETAIN Hush! Hush! Who laughed? MIDIR None laughed. All here are in a spell Of frozen silence. ETAIN Sure, sure, one laughed. Tell me, sweet Voice, which one among the Shee Is he who plays with shadows, and whose laugh Moves like a bat through silent haunted woods? MIDIR He is not here: so fear him not: Dalua. It is the mortal name of him whose age Was idle laughing youth when Time was born. He is not here: but come with me, and where The falling stars spray down the dark Abyss, There, on a quicken, growing from mid-earth And hanging like a spar across the depths, Dalua sits: and sometimes through the dusk Of immemorial congregated time, His laughter rings: and then he listens long, And when the echo swims up from the deeps He springs from crag to crag, for he is mad, And like a lost lamb crieth to his ewe, That ancient dreadful Mother of the Gods Whom men call Fear. When he has wandered thence Whether among the troubled lives of men or mid The sacred Danann ways, dim wolflike shapes Of furtive shadow follow him and leap The windway of his thought: or sometimes dwarfed, more dread, The stealthy moonwhite weasels of life and death Glide hither and thither. Even the high gods Who laugh and mock the lonely Fairy Fool When in his mortal guise he haunts the earth, Shrink from the Amadan Dhu when in their ways He moves, silent, unsmiling, wearing a dark star Above his foamwhite brows and midnight eyes. Come, Etain, come: and have no fear, wild fawn, For I am Midir, Love, who loved you well Before this mortal veil withheld you here. Come! In the Land of Youth There are pleasant places: Green meadows, woods, Swift grey-blue waters. There is no age there, Nor any sorrow: As the stars in heaven Are the cattle in the valleys. Great rivers wander Through flowery plains, Streams of milk, of mead, Streams of strong ale. There is no hunger And no thirst In the Hollow Land, In the Land of Youth. How beautiful they are, The lordly ones Who dwell in the hills, In the hollow hills. They play with lances And are proud and terrible, Marching in the moonlight With fierce blue eyes. They love and are loved: There is no sin there: But slaying without death, And loving without shame. Every day a bird sings: It is the Desire of the Heart. What the bird sings, That is it that one has. Come, longing heart, Come, Etain, come! Wild Fawn, I am calling Across the fern! [@3Slowly@1 ETAIN, @3clasping his hand, moves away with@1 MIDIR. @3They pass the spell-bound guards, and disappear. A sudden darkness falls. Out of the shadow@1 DALUA @3moves rapidly to the side of@1 EOCHAIDH, @3who starts, and peers into the face of the stranger@1 EOCHAIDH It is the same Dalua whom I met Long since, in that grey shadowy wood About the verge of the old broken earth Where, at the last, moss-clad it hangs in cloud. DALUA I am come. EOCHAIDH My dreams! my dreams! Give me my dream! DALUA There is none left but this— [@3Touches the king, who stands stiff and erect, sways, and falls to the ground@1 DALUA . . . . . . the dream of Death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE SHADOWS: 19 by DAVID GRAY (1838-1861) LIMERICK by OLIVER BROOK HERFORD AT MAGNOLIA CEMETERY by HENRY TIMROD THRENODY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH LADY OF MYSTERY by G. W. BLOEMENDAL SONNET ON LIFE by BROOKE BOOTHBY |